5 random photographs

crotchety

In an effort to prove how crotchety I can be whilst out and about on the town, the wife made a list of every "crotchety" thing I said from Sonic to the pharmacy and then on home (probably no more than 2 miles). She did this without me knowing. Here are some highlights, free of context:

• "It don't matter, he'll suck it down so fast."
• "...if they can even hear me over this caterwaulin' radio."
• "Someone stole my pens and now they're messed up."
• "The older I get the less tolerance I have for this music."
• "This is dopehead music."
• "Don't put no damn straw in mine...straws are for weaklings."
• "I can't see from this damn blind spot. Ridiculous car...whoever designed it was on drugs."
• "Make yo mind up, Joe."
• "Those jackasses are still sitting on the porch."

King Tongue: "Jack Casual's Back"

I'll try to dole out these videos of my old bands sparingly. This one was filmed at some wedding reception at a restaurant called Charlie's Fire Lake steak house. I'm guessing it was sometime in the middle of 2000, seeing as how King Tongue only lasted a year or so. The song is one of my favorites. We wrote it in the early 90s when we were playing together as HEAD. It's called "Jack Casual's Back" and the name came from a friend who used to follow us around. He called me Jack Casual, for some reason. He may have even said "Jack Casual's back!" at some point but I thought it would be neat to use a double meaning of sorts, with "Jack Casual's back must be strong" then "Jack Casual's back must be tired" and finally "Jack Casual's back in town...". There's a line in there that goes "How green his garden grows, he's making necklaces and bracelets from the hairs in his nose"...that was inspired by a guy I'd played in a band with who had extremely long nose hairs that stuck out of his nostrils.


"Jack Casual's Back" © 2011 by James Arthur Casey. All rights reserved

ain't gonna "rise and shine"

I used to have a ritual every morning upon rising in which I would call to mind Psalm 118:24: "This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it". I was on board with the truth that the Lord had given me another 24 hours. Thankful, too. I'm nothing if not grateful for all the things I have been blessed with (even if I don't seem that way to others). But to "rejoice"? To "be glad in it"? Now those are not easy things to do. At least not for me. 

I want to believe that my inability to truly be happy and joyful at the prospect of another day is a nasty by-product of bipolar disorder. The slight downward swing, in particular. I do take an anti-depressant, and I think it is effective, to the extent, probably, that such medications can be for someone who has suffered with BP for as long as I have...for the last few years I had come to the conclusion that I'd rather deal with the depression that had made it's home in my soul than to mess around with the medication combination that I had been prescribed. It seemed to be working. For almost three decades I chose not to take medicine at all (perhaps not a wise decision, but under the circumstances I felt it was the only one). When I committed, in 2006, to seriously work with medications I did so with the main goal of avoiding a manic episode such as the one that convinced me I HAD to do something. 

I had faith in my doctor. She's no longer in private practice but if she were I would still be seeing her. Her knowledge of psychiatric medications was second to none. She spent a lot of time telling me about options, possible side-effects (of great concern to me) and explaining how they worked in the brain. I was lost most of the time, but I realized she knew what she was doing and I developed trust in her. Unfortunately economic concerns forced her to return to work for the state and by the time my depression really began to "solidify" we were  no longer in touch.

So I just let it be. At first the swing towards the upper end would relieve some of the symptoms, but as time went by I came to realize just how pervasive the depression had become. 

You know, I see all these commercials on tv, "Is it difficult for you to stay motivated? Do you sometimes feel hopeless? Have you lost interest in things that once seemed important to you?", basically some drug company or another trying to market a new drug for depression, and I have to wonder if "depression" has become nothing more than a code word for "I'm in a bad mood a lot of the time" or "I can't deal with *insert petty concern here* and it makes me sad all the time" and blah blah blah. These people wouldn't know depression if it were a narcotic you could shoot straight into their veins. I'm not putting everyone who thinks they are actually clinically depressed in the same box, because obviously a lot of them really are. But with the pervasiveness of all these adverts you'd think that depression was the "Next-Big-Thing".

Depression, or at least I should say "depression as I have known it", is not going to be persuaded by an ad campaign to be treated. It is like a heavy weight, and that sounds like I'm using figurative language, but really I'm not: you can actually physically feel it, like a huge invisible hand pressing you down. The hate that builds up within you centers in your brow and forehead and before long you have a permanent scowl. You get annoyed at the slightest little thing. Anger and bitterness are like air to breathe and cynicism becomes second nature. You know you're making your family miserable, but you also know that it is the DEPRESSION that is doing it, not you. As if that makes any difference. Either way you're leaving a bad impression on the ones you love. Who knows what my depression has instilled within my son as he's grown up trying to deal with it? Knowing that only throws gasoline on the fire of self-loathing. And all this builds up and gets worse over time.

Anyway, that's been my individual experience. I only brought it up to show why I decided it was essential to add an anti-depressant to my medication regiment. The doctor at the behavioral center put me on Welbutrin. I hoped it would work but I wasn't putting any money on it. A month went by and, believe it or not, I sensed a little relief. I don't remember if it was ENOUGH relief to get my hopes up too high but it was a start. The next month I seemed to be a little better still. In the course of a few months I could actually feel the difference. I'm not 100% cured, I don't think anyone is ever completely cured of depression (just as bipolar disorder is not curable). But I'll take it. 

So, "this is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad it it"...I guess I do have a lot to be thankful for. Much to rejoice over, whether it "feels" like rejoicing or not. I can be "glad in it", because I know what it is to live the opposite. I do believe I'm alive and well only because God has been merciful to create for me another day. If it's difficult to recite Psalm 118:24 as if it were a mantra every morning it's only because I'm grumpy getting out of bed. Lots of folks like that, it doesn't nullify the sentiment of the verse. 

Better the Psalm than "Rise and Shine!!!" Oh how I hate that phrase.   

Merry Christmas!

A reunion

I'm still kind of reeling from yesterday...after many, many years apart, never knowing if I'd ever see her again, I was reunited with my daughter Aubrey.

I initially found her on MySpace about 4 years ago. I'd googled her name regularly for a long time after first getting a computer, but never had any success. In October, I think it was 2008, her grandmother passed away and I was able to learn her married name via the obituary. With that information I was able to quickly locate her on MySpace and sent a friend request immediately. She accepted it and we began to communicate. Actually it was very sporadic at first. Part of the reason was because MySpace, with it's narcissistic bent, was not a very good messaging medium. But like most people she and I migrated to facebook and left MySpace to rot. Which is really kind of sad now I think about it...I mean if it weren't for the service I would not have found her. I owe a debt of gratitude to Bob and the other poor suckers who made the website what it was before watching it sink in the wake of facebook.

With facebook we had a much better vehicle of communication and we used it. Limiting the conversations to facebook messages seemed like the right thing to do at first, because my plan was to take things slow. A month or so ago we began talking on the phone.

Well by now I guess I should provide some background...Her mother and I broke up when she was 6 months old. She was basically spirited away where I couldn't find her and the only chance I had to see her was when she was visiting her grandmother in town. I wasn't happy about the arrangement, as I felt like I should have been allowed to take her out sometimes. Like maybe to the cafe for a coke or somthing simple like that. But my ex-wife wouldn't hear of it. When she was 4 years old I had a conversation with her grandmother that led me to believe that I should not come around anymore. At all. My dad and his 3rd wife were allowed to take her out but I couldn't be there.

I didn't see her again until she was 12 years old. I'm sure it was my dad's wife's idea but they brought her to my house. She wasn't allowed to get out of their truck. She had to have been scared to death. Obviously they didn't call to inform me that they would be coming around with her so it was a complete surprise to me. Only made worse by the knowledge that she wasn't supposed to be there. Moreover, I was not in a "proper state of mind" to deal with the situation. I spoke with her from outside the door of the truck and she sort of cowered in the front seat, without a doubt unsure of what to say or do. I was excited to see her but it was definitely not the way I wanted it to be.

I think she was like 24 years old when I next heard from her, and that was when I saw her on MySpace. So we're talking 12 years without even knowing where the other was. I never counted that clandestine visit, so as far as I was concerned it had been 20. Twenty years. I already had a teenage son by that time.

That was an awesome time, but up on the same level was yesterday when myself and my family spent the day with her and her husband. I won't even try to describe it other than to say that on a list of the absolute greatest, most important days of my life, yesterday is way, way up there. We are both very excited about building a relationship that, even if it can never be the kind that we would have had if I'd raised her myself, will hopefully be every bit as rewarding and precious for both of us.

I learned a lot about myself yesterday, with this huge gap in my heart finally filled. I was able to stop asking myself if God actually, really answered prayer. I was convinced that it was a waste of time, I guess because my own prayers seemed to fall upon deaf ears. But yesterday was a miracle. The whole chain of events that led to it were miraculous. I don't believe in coincidence and I never have. I never will. The way this all came together could not have been by chance. It wasn't luck. It happened for a purpose, and that purpose was not necessarilly limited to a chance for us to finally get to know each other. It was a healing, pure and simple. I will never be the same, and realized this as I was sitting in the passenger seat on the way home. I remembered all the prayers and I felt like I should give thanks to God for finally answering them. So as I prayed I tried to express just how grateful I was and the more I tried the more I realized I wouldn't be able to. I could never, in a million years, thank Him enough for this. And in that gratitude I felt His presence, almost like all the happiness, joy and thankfulness needed somewhere to go, as it was endless, and He was there to take it all in, and that's when I figured out what it meant to give praise and honor to the Lord. How He is worthy of it, not because He is "selfish" or "greedy", but because He is the source of that praise and honor, it can only flow back to Him, He recieves it because it was His to begin with. That circuit of praise is FOR US.

Ah, but as so often is the case, I wasn't meaning to split off into a load of stuff about religion. Sorry, but I just couldn't help myself this time. Hopefully I made some sense. My definition of "praise" probably doesn't jibe well with what most people think it means. But that's neither here nor there. What I wanted to say here is that I'm a happy man right now. This is really a dream come true and I hope everyone who is reading this has a dream and that it will be an answered prayer as well.

My two children, together for the first time, with their old man.

Better call Saul!!!

"Breaking Bad" is addictive. Got NetFlix? Take my advice and check it out.

  BETTER CALL SAUL!!! 

A few promo shots of HEAD, 1992

One of the better bands I've been a part of, HEAD.

The NEW BLOG is LIVE

Okay, I've got the new blog up and ready, though there are still a few tweaks that need to be applied.

MY NEW BLOG


Hope to see you there soon! And thanks for stopping by the Listening Room!

Dream Journal: December 15, 2011

I dreamed I was at a small department store across the street from the Dollar General store. I bought a bunch of junk food. Cookies, candies and two Slim Jim meat sticks which were twice as tall as the bag the stuff was in. As a result I had a difficult time tying the bag, which I would not have worried about but I had to go to the Dollar store for some other things and worried that the clerk there would think I'd brought it in to shoplift.

As I walked into the store the first thing I noticed was Sandy Denny playing on the store's sound system. Odd that someone would be playing Denny, but even more so because the Dollar store doesn't even have an in-store sound system. I decided it must be coming from the portable stereo at the check-out counter. I made a point to congratulate the cashier on her excellent choice in music. 

I showed the checker my tied-up bag from across the street to let her know that she could trust me not to rip them off, then I walked to the back of the store where the fabric softeners were kept. Apparently a bottle of Downy was my purpose for coming to the store. To the strains of "Listen, Listen" I checked out the stock only to find that they were out of the proper size. They only had a slightly smaller bottle and a really big bottle...but both of them were only half full. I noticed that all the brands of fabric softener were half full and I thought, well maybe you're supposed to add water now? 

I decided I'd wait until I was sure the situation wasn't universal before making a purchase and I walked towards the exit, still intending to compliment the cashier for her choice of music.  When I saw her I was struck with the impression that she was not the kind of person who liked Sandy Denny. Don't ask me why. I know it's stupid. But it discouraged me from saying anything. 

There was a small refrigerator near the counter...not one of those refrigerator units the keep soda pop in, you know, the point-of-purchase "yeah, might as well get something to drink, never mind that it's twice the price of warm soda in the pop section" trick. Just a small ice box. I opened the door and as the frost rolled out I noticed something in the door shelf. A CD. A copy of "No More Sad Refrains: the Sandy Denny Anthology". What it was doing in there I wouldn't even presume to guess, but I wasn't going to say anything about it. 

I walked out of the store befuddled and I woke up even more so. I'm not convinced that dream interpretation isn't on the same level as telephone psychic hot lines, but it would be interesting, even if not enlightening, to know what this one signified. Some possible factors that may play into a genuine interpretation:

• I've been fairly successful in maintaining a low calorie diet over the last month or two. The junk food (especially the Slim Jims) represents a strong craving for food that actually tastes good.

• A paranoid suspicion that people, store employees in general, think I'm going to steal from them, even though it's the farthest thing from my mind. 

• Maybe I should break out that Sandy Denny anthology and give it a spin.

• An almost desperate desire to bond with someone based upon their taste in music, which is actually significant because all my best friends have scattered across the land and it would do me a world of good to make some new ones. Yet I don't feel that I can do that with anyone who isn't as passionate about music as I am. Maybe I'm cutting myself out with such a requirement, but I can't help it. Music is my comfort zone and up to now I have yet to be introduced to anyone with similar characteristics.

That last one probably holds the key to the entire dream. I would elaborate but I've already spent more time on this post than I had planned. 

R.E.M.: The Dream is Over

I wrote this on September 23, which, if memory serves, was the day after REM broke up...

In 1985 I found myself locked behind the walls of the Naval Hospital's 4th floor psych ward in Orlando, FL. I wound up spending almost 6 months there, waiting for a bipolar disorder diagnosis. A tragic situation on many levels. One of the worst experiences of my life, made all the worse for the wonderful things happening on the outside that I should have been a part of. Mainly the birth of my first child, a daughter who I was not able to see until over a month after her arrival. Many were the times when I felt like giving up, but knowing I'd soon be with her kept me going.

There was something else that kept me going, though it certainly was not of the same magnitude as seeing my daughter. It might not make sense to a lot of people, but that thing was a record album. Namely Fables of the Reconstruction by R.E.M., a band that I had decided, a couple of years before, was the best American rock band of all time. Music being my passion, I'm not sure that I could describe just how much this group affected me, from the first bars of Chronic Town, their debut EP, to the last chords of "Little America" from their second full-length offering, Reckoning.

I was in a band myself at the time. Ask the other guys how infatuated with R.E.M. I was...They'll probably tell you that I wanted to turn it into an R.E.M. tribute band, and who knows but maybe there is some truth in that. I would gladly have worked up their entire catalog up to that point if I thought they would let me. Luckily my excitement was contagious and they both wound up being R.E.M. fans eventually.

I wanted to do everything the way they did. Their "ethos" seemed so right to me. Uncompromising originality, doing it their way, never letting the new record sound too much like the last one, working their fan base from the ground up, going out in teams of two to promote themselves...they seemed honest and genuine. I admired everything about them musically, from Peter Buck's jangling guitar to Mike Mills' chordal bass playing to Bill Berry's rock solid drumming...and okay, I will confess, it was Michael Stipe's voice, style and slurring that really sold me on them. Even so, it was the package deal that kept me interested.

Do you want to know how obsessed I was with R.E.M. in 1984? I owned a SWEET MusicMan Stingray bass guitar...one of the best basses made at the time. I loved it. Then, one evening as I watched the band's appearance on some forgotten MTV "Rock Legends" program I saw Mike Mills' Rickenbacker and decided, then and there, that I had to have one, too. If that was part of what made up the R.E.M. sound, well I needed that. To make a long story short, I traded in my MusicMan and a hundred bucks for a piece of crap stereo Rickenbacker that sounded awful and was difficult to play.

One of the big disappointments of my life up to that point (inexperienced youth that I was) was missing the band touring for the Reckoning album when they played at a renovated church in Norman, Oklahoma called The Bowery (the legendary Bowery, as far as I was concerned). I'd heard they were going to perform there but when I called to get details I was told they'd already been there...the night before! So I asked if they knew where the band was scheduled to play next. It was at some bowling alley in Dallas on that evening. The next show was in St. Louis, Missouri and I seriously thought about doing whatever I had to do to get there. I think it was Southern Methodist University (I could be wrong). They informed me that students had first dibs on the tickets and I knew right then that it was hopeless. I did eventually see them, during the Life's Rich Pagaent tour. It wasn't Fables-centric, but they did most of my favorite songs ("Sitting Still" & "Shaking Through" are the ones I remember the best). Mike Mills even said something about how the first time they'd played in Oklahoma was at "some church". I think they played Oklahoma one more time after that, for the Green album. I missed that one, but it was okay by me. I wasn't real happy with the direction their music was going at the time they signed with Warner Bros.. I was just happy I'd been able to see them before then.

So, what does all this have to do with getting through a 6 month stint in observation? Just this: I'd heard that the band's 3rd album was going to be released in mid-to-late '85 and I could not wait! Oh, but I had to. Because it came out about two months after I took up residence on the 4th floor psych ward! Such bad timing! One day I'm listening to the stereo in the lounge when, I couldn't believe it myself, "Can't Get There From Here" comes on. It sounds almost nothing like R.E.M.. I wanted to hear it again and a few more times to get a handle on the direction they were heading. I thought it was pretty good on first hearing, but I couldn't be sure just how much I might like it without a couple more decent listens. To make matters worse I got a copy of Rolling Stone and wouldn't you know it? The feature review was of Fables of the Reconstruction. It was a very positive review. I remember seeing all the song titles, wondering what the songs themselves might sound like. I proselytized R.E.M. to any and all of the psych techs who cared to listen and no doubt more than one realized that getting to hear that record was one of the things that kept my chin up. Re-united with wife and daughter was most important, obviously, but getting my own copy of Fables was a powerful incentive to hang on as well.

I know I haven't gone into detail about what I went through there. Or how or why or whatever, none of it really needs to be related other than to point out that those days, weeks, months WERE difficult for me. I don't think I can over-emphasize how these things, big and small, pulled me through, or to describe exactly what it was they actually did pull me through. Suffice to say that I will be thankful for them until the day I die.

It should come as no surprise that one of the first things I did when I was discharged was go straight to Sound Warehouse to buy a copy of Fables of the Reconstruction....or Reconstruction of the Fables depending on which side of the jacket you were looking at. The wheels were set in motion. The grooves in the record would be worn out only weeks later. The music, in the grand R.E.M. tradition, shared little in common with what came before. Just enough to remind you of who you were listening to and why you loved them. Yes, I had my favorites. "Life and How to Live It", "Feeling Gravity's Pull"...and there were a couple I wasn't all that crazy about, "Old Man Kinsey", "Maps and Legends". But as a whole I couldn't think of too many albums that were so consistently excellent.

Maybe my reverence for Fables of the Reconstruction is tinged with sentimental attachment. So it is. Still I have no problem coming out and saying that it is one of the few truly great records of the 80s. Unlike the music of so many dime-a-dozen MTV-friendly music video pimping bands of that decade, R.E.M.'s mid 80s output will be remembered for a long time to come.

I confess, I'm not much of an R.E.M. fan these days. I don't like having to say that, but it's true. They have released excellent music since I fell off the bandwagon, but it's not for me. No doubt that is the curse of any band who doggedly insists on not repeating themselves. At some point you're going to lose the people who aren't willing to follow your muse. Maybe the word "willing" is not what I mean to say. I'm "willing" to go with them, but it's useless because the music doesn't appeal to me anymore. The last song I truly loved by R.E.M. was "New Test Leper" from the last album they recorded with Bill Berry on the drums, New Adventures in Hi-Fi. Even that was after generally losing interest, as I mentioned earlier, after they signed with major label, Warner Brothers. They got more popular, with the success of "Losing My Religion" and later "Everybody Hurts", an anthem so universal it was bound to resonate with everyone. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame not too long afterward. They had made it, they'd done it their way, and whether or not the old school fans wanted to admit it or not, they'd come out on the other side with dignity and integrity intact, doing what THEY wanted to do, still releasing music that draws in new fans, at least two for every one lost, it seems. So the oversight is mine, for sure.

As of yesterday, September 21, 2011, that's all history. R.E.M. has broken up and it's almost surreal to me. Even though I may never have gotten back into them again I still have a very difficult time believing that it's over. It's just a band. Yet so much more to me. Why? I don't know myself. Their music was very much a soundtrack to some good times in my life. They were down to earth and never let rock stardom turn them into assholes. I'll never forget writing to their fan club and getting a personal note from Mike Mills, who informed me that he had family here in Oklahoma. Of course this was in the early stages of their career, so they had more time to be so available to their fans. But I have always got the impression that R.E.M. have always treated their fans not only with respect but as fellow travellers on their journey.

Me? I will always consider them to be one of my favorite groups in the history of modern music. Come to think of it, maybe it was a good thing that I didn't follow them after Bill Berry's departure. There are three entire R.E.M. albums that I have never heard...I'm sure I'll come around to where they left me someday. I'll have what I might as well consider "new music" from the band. New to me. That will make it somewhat easier to deal with the fact that the three remaining members  will no longer be creating more as a unit. Though that be the case, the reality is that R.E.M.'s body of work will stand up to repeated listening for years to come. Long after the idea of "alternative music" has died, the name "R.E.M." will be remembered and their legacy will be, among other things, the proof that music can transcend labels. That it can rise above categorizations.

Mr. Berry...Mr. Buck...Mr. Mills...Mr. Stipe...God bless you. Thank you. Thank you so much and may you each be successful in whatever endeavors you choose to pursue at this point in your lives. You've touched a lot of people. Your music genuinely moved us. Your originality has amazed us. Your integrity has inspired us. You have not let us down, in the past or with this decision to call it a day. We trust you well enough to give you the benefit of the doubt and if you say the time has come, then it's for certain the time has come. But you will be missed...and it is with no small degree of sadness that I have to say...

Goodbye

Here is a list of my favorite R.E.M. songs, limited to 2 tracks per album.

Chronic Town:
Gardening at Night
Wolves, Lower

Murmur:
Sitting Still
Shaking Through

Reckoning:
Harborcoat
Pretty Persuasion

Fables of the Reconstruction:
Kahoutek
Life and How to Live It

Life's Rich Pagaent:
Hyena
These Days

Dead Letter Office:
Voice of Harold
Bandwagon

Document:
Finest Worksong
King of Birds

Green:
The Wrong Child
(hidden track)

Out of Time:
Country Feedback
Belong

Automatic for the People:
Nightswimming
Find the River

Monster:
Let Me In
What's the Frequency, Kenneth

New Adventures in Hi-Fi:
New Test Leper
Leave

I haven't listened to the "post-Berry" albums enough to have any favorites. Haven't heard the last three at all. But I do like "Imitation of Life" and "Beat a Drum" from Reveal quite a lot.

Believe me when I tell you that it wasn't easy to narrow the selections on this list down to only two per record.

BIG NEWS

Well, I suppose it may be big news to someone...

Though the Listening Room will remain out of action for the foreseeable future I am in the process of putting up another blog...an "Agaetis Byrjun", if you will, a "fresh start". I don't suppose it will be much different in content than this one. Probably more of a "journal" with photos and videos gleaned from crap I find on the Internet and such. More of my own pictures, scanned and all. Pictures of the dog. Old school pictures. A bunch of crap like that. And I'm sure I'll post any reviews, write-ups, fiction etc. The main change will be the design. I know I could just completely overhaul the Listening Room, toss out the links and stuff, but I really don't want to do that. I'd rather just leave it the way it is, provide a link in a prominent spot on the new blog and start anew.

As for the Wordpress blog...I don't see myself working on that one too much in the days to come. It kind of took a turn towards a religion blog and I just don't know if I'm up for writing about that subject often enough to justify the upkeep of the blog. Plus, Wordpress is SO limited in what you can do with designing a blog...it's frustrating. Of course, not all of that blog was devoted to religion. There's a tribute to REM I wrote when I found out they'd broken up. There's a lengthy piece I did about a screening of Sigur Ros' film "Inni". A reminiscence of the first time I saw U2. I will likely cut and paste those into the new blog.

I don't know when it will go live but obviously I'll come back and leave a link when it does. It would probably already be up if not for some background photo issues I came against the other day when I first decided to work on it...so it would appear that Wordpress does not have the market cornered when it comes to frustrating it's users.

See you later!

If you made it down this far and would like to see the blogging I've done from 2003-2011, feel free to visit my previous blog:

Jackory's Listening Room

Ease me down gently into the Dream...

Ease me down gently into the Dream
Forget what I see, forget what I've seen
Hold me down softly, free me from sin
All that I am, all I have ever been
Gently, son, gently
Into the dream

Make me a home now, deep in your heart
So that these generations won't keep us apart
To dwell in your memory, free of the shame
As time and forgetting atone for the blame
A home, son, my home
Within your heart

Sing me a sweet song to put me to sleep
The one I gave to you and told you to keep
Until the day came I would need it again
To scare away gods and demons and men
No sad songs, son
But sing me to sleep

Remind me, my son, of the things that I said
Of no looking back, only looking ahead
Today is no different, though my eyes cannot see
This place where I go that my mind can't conceive
teach me again, son
These lessons I've taught you

One last thing now, before I begin
This eternal journey that starts at the end
Of a life filled with love, my last wish will be
Take mine with you, son, I'll take yours with me
Before I begin, son,
Ease me into the Dream

knock down your idols

I want to knock down your idols
I gave them to you I should be able to destroy them
I should be allowed to crush them with the same hammer
I used to drive the nails into Christ's
Hands
and
Feet

I want to uproot your garden
The one I planted and presented to you
Flowers of all shapes and colors I thought
You needed reminders of the ideas I once held dear
Dear enough to till in fertile soil
That have proved poisonous
Black and rotten to eyes of age
While the serpent has not found the young yet
I want to pull them out, all of them out
I need to yank them out, weeds and all
Maybe it won't be too late
To sow better seed in that growing land

I believe her when she tells me...

I believe her when she tells me
How you've become a monster
She has no reason to lie...

She says you are filled with hate
But I know the truth is more complicated
You just bounced from one wall to another
We both drank from the same fountain

She says I wouldn't recognize you
I'm sure she's right
Even more sure
She wouldn't recognize me
We are both paying

She says she doesn't really get along with you
What could you have done, I wonder
To push her away, it's sad, because I know
In pushing her you exacted revenge against me

She tells me a lot of things
They hurt, they anger, they pour salt in the wound
And I would listen to her all day long

Because I long to fill in the gaps
The years absent of you

I want to know that I hurt you almost as much as you hurt me

the first time I noticed...

I think this was the first time I noticed
That song doesn't move me like it used to
It's nothing, really
I just thought it would always move me
I figured it would never grow old

All the idols
Crafted in cheap tin
Dipped in dirty water and left to rust
Bored of your graven image

Yes, you've stolen more than years from me
I don't want them back
As if you hadn't ditched them
One at a time, without a care in the world

It only makes me lighter
Easier to float

I think they blow demon's breath...

I think they blow demon's breath
To knock the weak to the ground
Some of them don't even realize
How they're being used
Willing, ignorant mouthpieces
Gleefully spitting the Name of the enemy
Gracefully twisting the Word despised
Into something unrecognizable

behind me...

Ashamed of what's behind me
Afraid of what lies ahead
I should find comfort
In the moment between
Where judgment has been passed
Where innocence is restored
I would find faith in that span
If I only knew what faith is
For I find myself begging for forgiveness
For sins I've already begged forgiveness for
In so doing I testify
My unbelief
My unwavering suspicion that none can be forgiven
Even by You
Even if I were to convince myself
That forgiving is not the same as forgetting
I would still blame You
For tying guilt to the memories
And giving  me the strength to dredge them up
From the well of experience
Where iniquity floats
While joy sinks
So deep, deeper still, lost, never mine
With the understanding of repentance
As stuffed as a shadow
Yet heavier than stone
You know, You know
I don't even know what it is
So how can I be saved?
How can I be saved from this awful moment?
Where the great I AM dwells
While I am pulled back by devil's lies
Counting out time, waiting
For the glorious moment
When I can slash that coil I'm tethered with
To sink down, deep, deeper still
Until murky water is air to still lungs
All I see, all I know, all I've ever known, everything I might have known
Will be shuffled off like a thick coat on a summer's afternoon
And this hope will be tested
My question answered, are hope and faith one and the same?
I hope so.
I have faith it is so.

The Listening Room closes it's doors.

Well, folks, after almost 10 years of blogging here at Blogger I have decided to make a clean break and leave the ol' Listening Room to the moths. It's not so much that I'm disappointed with Blogger itself...even though I really don't like the new text editor and the dashboard...but I've been wanting to do something with Wordpress for a long time anyway. This will be as good a chance as any to work out a new focus and direction for what I'm wanting to move on with. It will still be a haven of narcissism but hopefully will not get so cluttered with junk on the way. I've gone through many changes since first starting this blog, most of which were well documented in it's pages. I'm hoping to settle down now, to get comfortable with the worldview I've returned to. After all the stuff I've written about the "paths" I was taking with all the sidetracking and abandoning, I am very ready to get back to what I've believed all along...

You're welcome to visit and/or bookmark my new blog. I hope that my friends who keep up with this one will come with me. I would never delete the Listening Room because there's just too much history here...but from now on you can find me, if you so desire, at:

HALFWAY BETWEEN GENIUS & BUFFOON 

Well folks, it's been a good run. Thanks!
James Casey

Pure insanity.

Trollery

On a trip to Oklahoma City a few days ago I engaged in a lively discussion with my son. He had recently written a blog post about Internet trolls for his site "Eyes On Everything" and so the subject came up as to whether it was necessarilly a "bad" thing to be one. Admittedly it had been a few days since I'd read his article, so I wasn't really prepared to talk about the points he had brought up. I think it was mainly about the definition of a "troll" and a description of the different methods they employ. It may have had a bit more to it, but we took the conversation to another level so I don't think it mattered that I wasn't up-to-speed about what he had written. In other words, there wasn't anything in the post that I didn't already know.

So...is it okay to be a "troll"? Is trolling a good thing or bad? If the former, to what ends? If the latter, why? What does engaging in trollish behavior say about the person who practices it? Does it matter? Is it just a necessary side effect of the anonymity the Internet provides?

Pretty vague questions, to be sure. Is it "okay" to be a troll? Well, you'd think it was no big deal seeing the vast armies of trolls plundering YouTube, facebook, Twitter and countless message boards/communities. The only way to avoid them is to ignore them (remember that, it's important...nay, essential). So is it socially acceptable? Does it even matter? After all, the rules have changed with the widespread cultural saturation of the Internet. Only time will tell if the intense negativity of trolls (and the vile screes of genuine haters) will become manifest in cultural indifference as time goes by.

But what do I think? Is it okay? Personally I say "no", it's not okay. It's not cool. There is nothing about trolling which benefits anyone, especially the one doing the trolling. It's a waste of time. The kind of pleasure that can be had in trolling is on the same immature level as picking the wings off of flies. It's mean and manipulative. Manipulation is what trolling is all about, everyone knows that. So who has that right? Who has the right to manipulate another human being? From where within the psyche does this urge to manipulate arise? I'd venture to guess that it's not a *good* place, and it's certainly not a method of catharsis that is healty, mentally or spiritually.

"But that's just it," says the troll. "It's catharsis. It allows me the chance to get out all my aggressions without physically hurting anyone." Sounds good, until you consider the chance that your mode of aggression therapy has the very real power to hurt another person. Feelings are hurt easily...this may not sound like such a big deal, kind of wimpy, right? People's "feelings"... they should grow thicker skin, eh? Well, they shouldn't have to. It's hard enough to deal with the bullshit life throws your way without having some idiot tell you your mother's a cow or the religion you hold dear is a pack of lies... And you never know. You could well be messing with someone who has just about had enough, who is one insult away from buying a gun and shooting himself in the head...or using that gun to mow down a few school kids before turning it on himself. You'd think that the remote POSSIBILITY of something like that happening would be a wake-up call to the trolls, that they would realize the "power" that is available to them can be quite destructive, not just some mischevious fun. But you know what? It won't. Because it's just too much fun being a troll.

What makes it so fun? My son says trolls are so into it because it lets them invent completely new personas for themselves. Of course you can do that without being a troll, and no doubt that is a very interesting experiment to conduct. But I suppose the troll aspects come into play when you try to push some buttons just to see how someone else would react to the avatar you've created. It's not you, right? So you can say anything you want. You can pick a cyber-fight. You can make someone fall in love with you, not even knowing that the screen name is not a real person at all (naive, I know, but you would be surprised...). And all of this without any repurcussions in the "real world".

So what does that say about you, my troll friend? It says that on some level you can't handle the real world and/or your place in it. The level of cruelty in your Internet jousts is in direct proportion to how frightened you are to hurl them at a real person, to their face. No integrity whatsoever. Does that matter to you? Does your anonymity change the fact that you're a coward, oh nameless troll? No, it does not. It magnifies it.

That is how I feel. I feel justified in expressing and holding these opinions because I once engaged in trollish behavior myself. For several years, to be honest. I look back on those days and I am ashamed of myself. I regret the time and effort I wasted in targeting people and waging war with them. I know why I did it, and I know how I thought it was so much fun. Those things reflect aspects of my personality that I should have left where they belong, instead of bringing them closer to the fore, giving them chance to grow. Perhaps had I not nurtured them by trolling they would be buried even deeper, robbed of the chance to do any more damage. I didn't care about the people whose minds I messed with. I said, "this person is a screen name, nothing more". That's all they were to me. I could say whatever I wanted because a screen name doesn't have emotions.

If you are a troll and happen to be reading this, please understand that I'm not judging or condemning you. Only your hobby. My only advice to you is that you consider the feelings of the people you are toying with. Go to a bar, walk up to a stranger, unleash your best troll line and stand up to the possibility that he will knock the shit out of you. You'll get what you deserve.

I had a dream last night that I worked at Wal-Mart. I had put one of my own CDs in the store's player that piped in music for the store. It was actually a copy of the podcast I made a couple of months ago and at one point it was getting very weird. I got really scared that the management would take notice and I'd get fired. I expected to see customers with stunned looks pushing their carts around, heads turning to the right and to the left attempting to find out where the noise was coming from. So I went to retrieve the disc hoping that it wouldn't be too late to save my job. But I couldn't find it. It wasn't anywhere that I remembered it being. I was starting to get a little scared. It came to mind that probably they didn't even normally play music on the store PA. In actual waking fact, they don't, but I could not convince myself of this. I eventually did find the player. It was some strange component version of Windows Media Player. So strange.

A Commentary on the Sad State of Religious/Atheist Sloganeering Apparel

A couple of weeks ago I was at Best Buy with my son. I don't remember if we were there to purchase anything in particular, just walking around checking out the merchandise. Best Buy is possibly my favorite store for window shopping.

Anyway, I'm headed toward the televisions when I noticed a lady in a green shirt that sported the recognizable Mountain Dew logo. My son has one just like it. At least I thought so until I looked a little closer and saw that it didn't saw "Mountain Dew" at all. I could have sworn that the shirt said "Meant to Die".

"What in the world is that all about?" I thought. "Meant to die???" Lime green is not exactly a "goth" color, so I figured it probably wasn't some suicidal message. Besides, she couldn't have been any younger than 45. She certainly didn't look like your typical Smiths fan. I doubt she'd even heard of the Cure. So what was this "Meant to Die" business?

I decided my eyes had failed me so I sent my son to investigate. He came back with the affirmation, indeed the shirt read "Meant to Die". That's all we could read of it, but I knew at that point, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there had to be more words on it. Furthermore I knew that there was a very good chance that those words were either a.) part of a Bible verse or b.) a pithy slogan that would identify the wearer as a Christian. Most likely a variation on the product's own tag line.

Sure enough, a Google search turned up a similar garment on eBay which confirmed not one, but both of my suspicions. "Jesus MEANT TO DIE for you!" accompanied with the text of John 15:13 ("Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends"...I have no idea what translation it's from. Probably "The Message").

I've seen these shirts. I guess everyone has by now, but I've actually shopped in a Mardel so I've seen a LOT of them. And every single one is as hoaky and corny as it gets. I'm sorry if I offend anyone with my opinion of them but I cannot for the life of me understand why ANYONE, Christian or otherwise, would want to wear them. Okay, it's parody. Parody can be very funny so there's always the chance that people who buy them do so because they think they're humorous. I can even understand why folks would want to display a Bible verse or something important to them. But the verses are always associated with something really dumb.

For instance, there is a shirt that looks exactly like swag from the movie "Twilight", only it reads "theLight" with John 8:12 attached. How about the Subway deli logo mutated to read "HisWay" with the "slogan" beneath, "I am the Way and the Truth and the Life".  Or perhaps you'd rather have the shirt that sports the Allstate Insurance logo altered to read "Allfaith. You're in good hands. Providing the best life insurance since the birth of Jesus Christ". How can it get much more inane than "King of Kings" placed between the familiar buns on the Burger King logo. And this isn't even the tip of the iceberg.Though it's not a product rip-off, one of my favorites simply reads "Get STONED like Paul! Acts 14:19-20. Stand your ground for CHRIST!" I include it because it's such a fine example of just how stupid these things can get.

It was actually kind of difficult to track down a photo of the "Meant to Die" shirt. It was there in the links but when I clicked them it was apparent they had been removed. I can only assume that the good people at Mountain Dew were a little miffed at the theft of their intellectual property and took measures to save their brand from ridicule. It's a real wonder that more companies and corporations don't follow that lead. Then again, I suppose even a reminder of their ad campaigns and logos to the general public is worth a few cringes.

What makes a person want to wear one of these things? Do they think it's some kind of witness to the lost who just might happen to see it and be curious? Surely not. I cannot for the life of me imagine any non-believer stopping and asking about someone's t-shirt... Besides, you're supposed to reach out to them, not hope they come to you. If I, as a Christian, see these things for the kitsch they are, how much more so an atheist? People aren't laughing at the shirts. At least not in the way they might if the designs were actually funny. They're laughing at how pathetic they are.

Keith Green, whose ministry was defined by integrity and straight-forwardness, called the shirts and the other trinkets that go with them "Jesus Junk". And this was in the early 80s, can you imagine what he would think if he saw the pervasiveness of this trash now?

It IS junk, and it's a waste of money. It's an embarrassment to Christendom and a sad, sad testimony to just how irreverent Christians have become. Maybe I sound like Judas chastising Jesus for allowing the woman to pour expensive perfume on his feet...he was upset that money was being wasted, money that could be better used to feed the poor and help the needy. Jesus called Judas' bluff on that one, but I don't think there's a lot in common between anointing from adoration and spending twenty-five bucks on a Hane's XXL Beefy-T ruined by a ridiculous design that actually gives the impression that the wearer is only trying to "fit in". Yes, I do believe that is a motivator for people who get this crap. Everyone wants to be a part of something, and when they are it is only natural to want everyone to know about it. But come on! This is the church we're talking about!

$25 ain't much, but you'd do better to give it to a panhandler than the guy who owns the Christian bookstore in the mall (though I guess he has to eat, too...that's a whole different post). Let's all get together and agree to put an end to this cultural enigma. Let's get serious.

Okay...I've said some really, really harsh things about goofy Christian t-shirts. And I'm 100% sincere that they are a negative thing to the church. In that Google search I spoke of earlier I was led to an atheist blog where the blog owner and the majority of people leaving comments were saying basically the same thing (though not quite as civilly). It was clear that they disapproved, but I was surprised at the level of hostility the topic seemed to stir in many of them. Almost as if it were an affront, a personal insult to them that someone would wear a shirt proclaiming and/or associated with a religion. I wasn't surprised at all, because these militant atheists seem to be very touchy about the subject. In fact, I have noticed, in my travels through cyberspace, that there is a lot of hatred directed at religion and the people who don't share their worldview (funny, but it seems like the majority of these "attacks" are directed at Christians and Christianity in general). So it's only natural that atheist scorn for something as wacky as Jesus Ts would be expected.

The word "hypocrisy" began running through my mind. No doubt anybody would have figured it out, so it was strange that they didn't see it.

Let's do another Google search, shall we? And this time we'll enter "atheist t-shirts" in the search field. Or just go straight to "a theists online" (or don't, if you're easily offended). Here you'll find t-shirts, mugs, trinkets and other crap sporting these nice designs (warning: these are in extreme bad taste):

```The universally recognized yellow diamond that usually reads "Baby On Board", only here it's suspended above the Lord on the cross and says "Christ on Boards".

```"WWJD" = We Won, Jesus Died

```"Haven't you forgotten about Jesus? Isn't it about time you did?"

```"I Heart Roman Lions"

```"There's a sucker BORN AGAIN every minute!" (beneath a drawing of Jesus laughing condescendingly).

```"Silly Christian, Myths are for Kids"

Okay, that's enough. More than enough, actually. My point is obvious and surely it has been made. It's true that these things are not all derivative of company logos, but that's neither here. These are not meant to promote atheism so much as to offend theists. Is that what atheism is about, I have to wonder? Nothing better to do than try to bully people who don't happen to agree with you? See who can wear the most offensive clothing?

Friends, that is HATE, pure and simple. I don't put all atheists in that box, just like I know that most Christians aren't wasting money on useless garbage. But it is interesting to compare the stuff some Christians would wear on their chests as opposed to their unbelieving neighbors.

I'll take goofy over mean any day.

Skype Laughter Chain

I love to hear people laugh. Odd, you say, for such a cantankerous old fart? I cannot disagree, though I may not be as grumpy as all that. This video is the funniest thing, I do believe, that I've ever seen in the 49 years I've been roaming this planet. It's the only one of it's kind, although there are some videos of people cracking up watching THIS video...it's just not the same. This one shows how laughter is contagious by a continuous chain of people laughing at the video of the person you've just seen (and that person only, so it's not a cumulative effect. I could watch many, many of these and not be bored. On the contrary, I would look forward to the next because the only sound more awesome than an orgasmic moan is a belly laugh. And that's a fact.

...and for crying out loud, LISTEN TO THE PODCAST! I would say that I put a lot of work into it, and I guess it did require a lot of time and effort...but I enjoyed every minute. It's a chance for you to hear some music you likely have not heard presented in a format that is unique and original, if I may say so myself.

No Video of the Week...

 Sorry, folks, but I won't be putting up a Video of the Week this time around. There are way too many videos as it is on the home page and it's causing lengthy page load times. I'm planning on posting several more VHS-Digital videos so I can use all the space I can get. I realize that the omission of only one video won't help things too much, but I'll take what I can get. I may well not do any MVotWs for some time until I have more text to even things out.

I know this is difficult news to hear, but together we will get through it. Thank you.

---

Music Video of the Week: Bee Gees

Better late than never and I love this song. My favorite Bee Gees song. Well written, well produced, well performed, they did it all just right on this one. Especially love Robin's vocal. No joking, I am not the biggest BG fan...I like some of their songs alright...but this one, in my opinion, is stellar.

"Alone"

Bee Gees

---

I sit in the waiting room, hoping that my wife will be with the doctor at least long enough for me to write down a few things again. Not that I want her to spend too much time in there, and it is lunchtime, so my belly is growling (hoping for some pizza at the CiCi's we passed on the way here), but I've only now resolved to type out these observations after being detained for at least an hour anyway.

The room is not too full at the moment, and I can reasonably assume that this is the result of appointments being scheduled around the physician's meal breaks. Seven people, other than myself, are sitting quietly. An overweight woman in a loud bright green t-shirt has just now been called in. She was reading a paperback novel. From the distance I could not make out the name of the book or the author. Which is too bad because I have an ability to tell alot about a person by the books that they read.

In front and to my right is a young woman texting messages from her iPhone. She seems quite adept at it, as her thumbs glide quickly and effortlessly across it's screen. I can't see her face but her hair is a pretty, dirty blond that's been ironed to an almost unnatural straightness. She sits with her legs crossed and when she finishes texting she puts her hand up to her head as if to hold it, like a person deep in contemplation. It's a gesture that I can be found in often.

To her right, and up a row, is a guy sitting almost unnaturally still. He has medium length curly hair and wire frame glasses. He reclines in what appears to be a comfortable position and watched the television in the upper corner of the room. They have it tuned to the History channel, but that's all I can tell you about it. Usually they have it set to the 24 hour local news loop. No doubt this is much more entertaining, if not as informative. It doesn't matter to me, as I have my headphones on and have been listening to Sun Kil Moon's "Admiral Fell Promises" since long before I started writing this.

The girl with the iPhone just got called back, leaving one more empty chair for the crowd that will surely storm the place when 1:00 comes around. Chairs will be at a premium around that time. I already miss her.

But even as she saunters into the doctor's waiting room another texting female arrives. Unlike the last girl, I got a chance to see this one's face. She's relatively pretty, and I get the initial impression that she's a fun person to be with. Her purse is enormous. She could carry around an entire change of clothes in that thing. She is oblivious to the programming on the History channel, even though the TV is directly in front of her. Her texting is more important to her, which is obvious, but her technique doesn't appear to be nearly as advanced as her predecessor's.

While I wasn't looking a man came in and sat in front of the guy with the curly hair. He's filling out paperwork so odds are he is a new patient. That's a big hassle, having to do that. He's just wrapped it up and places his eyeglasses into his pocket. Apparently they are just for reading, seeing as how he has a pair of sunglasses perched atop his pate. He's drinking from a bottle of water and appears to be much more interested in the television program than the girl he's next to (the one I just described).

---

Nine Stories "Calling Her Name"

I know I've posted a lot of video here lately...probably too much. But as I may have mentioned earlier I got a VHS-DVD converter and there are a lot of old band performances I'm moving to digital. Here's one of them. One of my favorites. We called ourselves Nine Stories back then...and this was before Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories, so I say it's OURS. This is sort of a punk rock type thing I wrote about an ex-girlfriend. "When I see her walking down my street it makes me think about the times we had...I know I ought to feel depressed or something but it really kind of makes me feel glad...to hear 'em callin' her name..." oh, baby. Those were the days I could bust out a killer lyric.

---

Music Video of the Week: Hot Chocolate

"You Sexy Thing"
Hot Chocolate

...and a bonus video of one of my bands (King Tongue) basically trashing the song.

---

Clarence Clemons 1942 - 2011

Clarence Clemons

January 11, 1942 - June 18, 2011

Not too many rock star deaths affect me deeply. But watching Clarence play his solo in "Secret Garden" on this video pulled a tear or two from my dry eyes. I wish I had the words to say how much I admired his musical ability, the way he was able to play simple lines that would blow away even the most skilled jazz musicians because of the passion he put into them. Though it's true that there aren't too many rock bands traveling the world with a full-time saxophone player on board, I feel it's safe to say that Clarence would have been the best of them all. As a sidekick he was irreplaceable. Like Dean Martin losing Jerry Lewis or Oliver Hardy losing Stan Laurel. The comedy references are apt, as well, since there was always a light-hearted and humorous rapport he shared with Springsteen. Man, I can only imagine how Bruce has felt the last couple of days, because it's obvious to anyone who has followed the E Street Band for even a short time that Clarence and Bruce were closes as brothers. Family. That's a hard one to get through.

His solo in "Secret Garden" has come to be my favorite. The top of a long list that I think of as definitive sax breaks in rock history. He really was the best. This one, however, NEVER fails to give me goose bumps and chills. It's like a ghost floating into a room, hovering, taking in all there is, like a sweet fog that surrounds everything, barely perceptible before it wafts back out... It's a lonesome sound, but not a lonely one. It echoes the tone of Springsteen's voice with all the innocent wonder of discovering a lover's inner world. The realization that, as much as your heart desires, you will never have ALL of her. The place that sets her apart from masculinity. That makes her a woman. It is a treasure worth all the gold in the world, but a man can never have it. What Clarence Clemons does with his tenor sax on that song is mourn the loss of something we men can never have. "Where everything you want...Where everything you need...Will always be...a million miles away"...then there's Clarence. Tenderly sending us off on that first mile.

I can't really explain why I like that solo the best. I think part of it is because it's so "Un-Clarence" like. Most of his playing is exuberant and/or anthemic. But in "Secret Garden" he takes an entirely different approach. Settled down, laid back, no longer stealing the spotlight up front...any man that can steal the spotlight from Bruce Springsteen has got major talent...but this time he's almost hidden in the music. His melody slowly twists through the simple synth lines that permeate the song from start to finish. He masterfully controls the dynamics throughout the entire arrangement, oh, it just takes your breath away. It's like every once in a while he'll blow a quiet whole note that augments the lyrics...and then he takes that whole note and stretches it when the solo kicks in. He stretches it and weaves it masterfully, letting that magic whole note branch off into hushed tones like threads in a tapestry.

I know "Secret Garden" is one of Springsteen's more commercial songs. I still have a tad bit of a music snob in me, I guess, because I feel I must apologize for picking a favorite Clemons solo from such a successful Springsteen song. Oh, not saying that he didn't have quite a few hits, but this one is kind of in the same vein as "Born in the USA", "Glory Days", "I'm on Fire"...you know, the Springsteen songs that just about EVERYBODY knows and likes. Even the people who have never heard another note of music from the Boss but maybe have "Dancing in the Dark" on a homemade mix tape, sequenced between Kool & the Gang's "Cherish" and that song by Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam (I am still in the same decade, aren't I?). "Secret Garden" is surely a fixture on many "love-themed" playlists on the back of it's appearance in Cameron Crowe's film "Jerry Maguire". And that's cool. Because it kicked ass in that movie. It was placed in the perfect spot and it's no accident that Crowe didn't cut the soundtrack before Clarence's solo, because it conjured up the atmosphere so completely, if not even better than the lyrics...certainly with as much emotive power.

But yeah..."Secret Garden" is my favorite. I do, however, appreciate the wealth of Clarence's great performances in the E Street catalog. And it was a HARD decision, too. There were, however, a few Big Man moments that I want to acknowledge as some of his very best.

"Night" (from Born to Run)...jumping in after the machine gun blasts that open this track, Clemons gives this under-rated song a book-end hook that only shows up at the start and the conclusion. It's a clever trick...I mean, the riff is so exubarent, so catchy, a fantastic sax line that you expect will come back around in the form of a solo in the middle of the track. It doesn't. Springsteen's song structure teases, as if purposefully holding back...until the end. And there it is, every bit worth the wait, making you want to take the needle off the record and put it right back on.

"Drive All Night" (from The River)...okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe "Drive All Night" is Clarence Clemons' best solo. Let's just call it a tie for number one, okay? It's just that the first thing I usually think of with this song is the Boss's wailing "heart and soul" outburst. The sax solo kind of gets lost, but only because I'm so smitten with the last couple of minutes. Clarence sounds like a horn man playing in a roadhouse some time in the 50s with a serious rhythm and blues act. He rips into the middle of the song with so much passion that there's no mistaking the meaning the narrator is trying to convey. An aching, somewhere in the guts, that hurts almost as much as it feels good. He digs into that place, gives it a sound for a moment, then moves over to let Springsteen do what he will (and can) with the inspiration he's just been given. I've always maintained that "Drive All Night" is one of the best love songs ever written. Proof? "I swear I'd drive all night just to buy you some shoes and to taste your tender charms"... You hear a lot of people sing about how much they love their woman, but few are so perceptive and brilliant that they know the value of shoes in a woman's world. This is a man who really has been in love and has learned the valuable lessons.

"The Promised Land" (from Darkness on the Edge of Town)...One of the marks of a great musician is that they are immediately recognizable to anyone who has heard much of their music. Not so much "recognizable", I don't guess, but more of like "That could only be Clarence Clemons!" And the middle section solo here has "Big Man" stamped all over it. I'll never forget the show of love the audience displayed for CC when he stepped up front to play this solo at the Tulsa show a couple of years ago. He had said that the last tour the E Street Band did, which included this show, were "pure hell because of the pain". We all knew that he was in ill health. You could tell. Even so, his playing was fantastic. When "The Promised Land" came around he didn't miss a note. It was an empowering thing, almost, if that makes any sense. Like a glimpse of that Promised Land Bruce sings of and an affirmation that yes, we can get there if we only believe in it.

"Jungleland" (from Born to Run)... EPIC. This might as well be Clarence's signature solo. It's almost like a song within a song, sandwiched between the beginning and end of it's namesake. He starts out with a melody that could have come straight from West Side Story and slowly, almost imperceptibly adds more texture to it until by the end of his part it's become something majestic. Yearning. Much as I love the other songs on this list, I would still tell anyone who has never heard Clarence Clemons play that the place to start is "Jungleland". When I was a kid - 16,17 years old - I played saxophone in my high school's stage band (basically a big band jazz thing). I wanted to play improvisational solos and the way I learned how was to play along with records. I got pretty decent on a few, but the one I played the most, the one I liked the most and the one I eventually played better than the others was "Jungleland". Such an incredibly cathartic song to play. I wish all of you could know just how awesome it is to play along with Clarence Clemons, even if it's only a recording of him.

"Badlands" (from Darkness on the Edge of Town)... I include this as an example of how well Clemons' playing complimented Springsteen's. Bruce is not a "show-ey" guitar player. Still, if you listen closely you will find out just how good he is. The Big Man shared that same quality. He wasn't a flashy player. He wasn't the kind of player that traded in "how many notes can I fit into this bar?". He knew what the song needed, and that's exactly what he gave it. "Badlands" is a perfect example where you can hear Bruce turn over the reins and let the Big Man shine.

"Born to Run" (from Born to Run)... I don't think I even need to say much about Clarence's contribution to this song. Let's just say his playing constitutes a high percentage of why it is possibly the greatest rock and roll song ever written. Listen to that rumbling baritone sax blast at the start...there's the foundation of the Wall of Sound Springsteen was going for. CC's solo is a tad faster than what he usually played but his signature is still intact. Listening to the song right now and I'm struck by just how prevalent his playing is throughout. Nothing but texture and shading. Exactly what the track demanded. "Born to Run" is classic not only for the song itself, but for the sound. I've only now realized how much Clarence Clemons contributed to that sound.

Okay, there are many others..."Thunder Road", "Bobby Jean", "The Ties That Bind", "Rosalita", "New York City Serenade" among others. But there are only so many hours in the day. Though I see Clarence Clemons' passing as a major loss, I never realized how much I really enjoyed his playing. I mean, of course I love it and always have, but I don't think I ever gave him nearly as much credit as he deserved. I would like to correct that here and now.

I think it was the Righteous Brothers who had a hit with "Rock and Roll Heaven". I'm sure you've heard it. "If you believe in forever then life is just a one night stand - If there's a rock and roll heaven then you know they've got a hell of a band." That band has grown bigger and bigger ever since Buddy Holly died, but one thing is for sure: yesterday they got as good a sax player as they could have dreamed of.

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Music Video of the Week: ME!!!

I've been wanting a VHS-to-digital file converter for a long time...yesterday I finally got one. I imagine there will be lots of posts coming up that will be culled from the hours of tape collecting dust on the shelves. Here's the first one I uploaded to YouTube: a performance of Hank Williams Jr.'s "Born to Boogie" which was recorded March 5th, 1998. Jeez, lots of stuff happened between then and now, I tell ya. The venue was Charie's Palace in Shawnee Oklahoma, where I was the bass player in the house band. $50 a night, three nights a week. Not great, but better than what a lot of podunk country bands get paid on the local circuits in these parts. It was a fun gig, but that may have been because I was never "in my right mind" when I played there. Not a single show, if you know what I mean. I do know this: my ability to play bass pretty much reached it's peak while I was playing there. I mean, I was very good a couple of years later with King Tongue, but the Charlie's gig was what made me get to that level. I can't play worth a damn anymore.

"Born to Boogie"

JACkory w/the Charlie's Palace House Band

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"Gettin' in Shape" with Sireeno Kin

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"Yes I Know" by Memory Tapes

I couldn't wait for Music Video of the Week to post this...

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I Hate Giving These Things Titles

Nothing has changed, has it?
Oh, but who am I trying to fool?
I only said that because I was disoriented
By how different it all is, the furniture you've moved
I don't suppose it could have been any different
Had I hung around to watch you move it
We both know I couldn't have helped you
I wasn't strong enough and I don't mind admitting that
I only wish you had understood
That you had known just how much I liked the loveseat against the west wall
That you hadn't held it against me, my weakness, I couldn't lift those things
I didn't want to lift them and maybe that's something you didn't get
Of all the things you could have gotten
Had you not known how cheaply I could be had
You have no grasp whatsoever of Feng Shui
Or most likely it's my own inability to appreciate it
Yes, that's the truth, when you get down to it

I dreamed I saw you
Standing at an open window
4 stories high, looking down at a flag waving in the breeze
Leaning forward slightly
My gut clenched in fear
I felt worry like a strong breeze
Pushing me toward you
Stopped by some invisible responsibility
"If you love somebody, set them free"
That stupid song started playing in my head and I froze in my tracks
Even as you leaned forward even more
I thought
The possibility that you would fall outweighed
The likelihood that you would not
In that realization I saw what was wrong with me
Just like the time when I was 6 years old, playing in the park
Dad was at the picnic table playing cards with his friends
(That's what they liked to do)
I climbed up to the top of a very high slide
All by myself, no one to help me, no big deal
But he saw me
He felt the same breeze, almost like an East wind ushering in a thunderstorm
He stood up, a reflex, an instinct
And he watched with the same tingle of fear I felt in my dream
With every bit of strength within him he stayed
He was a real worrier, yet he overcame that worry
Just
Long
Enough
To see me laughing as I made my way down that slide
I love him for that
It was many, many years after that I finally came to understand
How essential are the words:
"Be Careful"
So that's what I said to you
Watching you bend over even more
Forgiving myself for being so worried
Because if you had fallen
I would have lived the rest of my life
Wondering why I didn't jump out after you

Those last days were kind of rough, weren't they?
The fights over who kept what and what was whose
The resigned silence
Reading each others minds, or so we thought
We might as well have been illiterate for our ability
Blame cast in every direction like fiery arrows deflected
By shields of indifference
I won't say I'm the innocent one
I won't be here for long
I only came to grab a few things
Soon be gone

This is not for you
Think what you will, I know you do
This is not even for me
Written, forgotten, that's how it must be
My codes are easily deciphered
Your cryptograms are broken
Not as clever, either one of us, as we thought
So it's better to be forthright
This place is so unfamiliar
It's impossible to believe I lived here for so long
It's yours now
If I could only ask for the DVD of "The Truman Show" beneath the books in "our" bedroom
I know you always thought of it as yours
But...

So now I'll be going
Hope I haven't kept you too long
I got what I came for
Turn away, love, I'm gone

"Calvary"...a short film by yours truly

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Music Video of the Week: The Stone Roses

"Waterfall"

The Stone Roses

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Music Video of the Week: Sade

"By Your Side"

Sade

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GaGa: Meat dress for dinner

I'm sick to death of seeing Lady GaGa all over the place. On magazine covers, on TV, on the Internet, everywhere you turn. You can't get away from her. Why has she struck such a chord with the American people? I mean, I have seen Facebook profiles of women well into their middle ages listing Gaga as a music favorite.

I saw her first video on MTV when it first came out (please don't ask what I was doing watching MTV, I assure you it was a 'WTF' pause in an otherwise boring channel surf). I thought it was campy and not really all that original. As her popularity increased I became convinced that her whole schtick was a combination of Marilyn Manson and Madonna. Both of whom have courted their fare share of controversy. Both of whom have also trotted out a penchant for deliberate controversy. Not necessarily to make up for any lack of talent, whether I particularly care for their work or not. But Lady GaGa, as a musical artist, hasn't enough talent to take 3rd place in a karaoke contest at a small town dive bar. It's entirely possible that she would agree, although not going quite so far with the analogy.

She has described herself as a "performance artist" and of course that's what she is. I'll even concede that she is a very good one. But the thing is: your average Joe Blow hasn't a clue what a "performance artist" even is. I don't mean that as an insult to anyone. I'm only saying that "art", to the majority, isn't nearly as important as what's on TV (precious little "art" to be found there), or who won the ball game last night or just hanging out shooting the bull with friends. That's all fine and good, nothing wrong with it. But these same people are the ones who have elevated Lady GaGa to the exalted position she is currently enjoying.

Which brings me to the other tool the Lady uses to increase her fan base: her fans. Or I should say her devotion to her fans. I have rarely ever seen a performer use so much PR time thanking and praising fans. No matter how outrageous she gets (meat dress, anyone?), no matter how hard she tries to be controversial (and maybe piss off a few squares in the process) she will always be embraced by her admirers because she has gone out of her way to make them feel like they are an integral part of who she is and the success she has enjoyed. And they are, I'm sure. That's the way it should be done, in my opinion. You have to become a part of your own fan base without kissing their asses. GaGa has come dangerously close but so far I don't think she's pandered to them.

She just doesn't, in my opinion, give them much substance to work with. Not that I would know. My exposure to her act has been about as limited as I can make it be. That's not why I started writing this, anyway. I am not really concerned with the quality of her music, and as I have already stated I do think she's a brilliant performance artist. I just get sick of seeing her picture everywhere and I guess it miffs me a little to know that I predicted a short, sweet future for her when I first saw that video. Now she's on the cover of this week's Rolling Stone (again). Such hype, such overexposure, surely can't be good for her. The American public, fan or no, is extremely fickle and you have to wonder just how long it will be before those loyal GaGa-heads jump ship for the next fly-by-night. Or maybe she'll actually succeed in taking things too far, so far that she'll lose a significant chunk of her supporters? The question isn't IF it will happen, but WHEN it will happen.

I wish her luck, I really do. I hope she saves her money and invests it wisely so she can live high on the hog for the rest of her post-15 Minutes life. She'll never be forgotten, I guess that's saying something. But Milli Vanilli will never be forgotten, either.

Which is not a fair comparison, I know. Maybe what I mean is that performance artists don't fare too well in the "where are they now" category. This is only natural. It's the PERFORMANCE that takes center stage for a performance artist (duh), while the artist creating it inevitably is forgotten. And the performance comes to an end when there is no one left who cares about watching it. Like a movie or a rock opera it can't last TOO long, else it's impact is consumed by the inevitable, essential boredom that is only natural when something goes on for too long. So maybe, for the sake of her art, Lady GaGa would do well to close down shop before she wears out her welcome.

All of this, admittedly, coming from the pen of a man who has given up hope for popular music several years ago, who won't be one bit offended if his readers tell him he's full of crap, that he isn't qualified to write about the topic. That's very likely true. But I did. I wrote about it. I wrote it because I was bored and noticed Lady GaGa on the cover of Rolling Stone and couldn't help but think how sick and tired I am of seeing her picture plastered everywhere. So that's really all I have to say. Cut me some slack, o ye gods of superstardom and forgive my apathy.

I'm discouraged at how I can see only absurdity in this phenomenon that so many people think is so "cool". I see her decked out in some weird half-naked batman outfit on Letterman and the first thing that comes to my mind is not "How outrageous", but "how ridiculous". And I think this transition I've undergone is a confirming sign that tells me I am starting to show my age. I am becoming less and less able to give a damn about the new and exciting. I'd rather listen for things I never heard before in the music that has shaped my taste for the last 40 years. You'd be surprised at how much there is. Either I've never noticed it or I've forgotten it. That's much more satisfying, to me, than pick and choose out of a new stable of bands, most of which are playing out a formula that was made popular by the music I've been listening to for years. I've already heard it, boys. Good luck to ya, because most folks out there HAVEN'T.

(note: I have, throughout this essay, spelled the subject's name thusly: "Lady GaGa". As I wrote the part about being so out of touch with pop culture I realized that my use of two capitals in her surname was possibly, maybe even likely, incorrect. Upon further investigation my suspicions were confirmed. Why did I think it was GaGa instead of Gaga? Hell if I know. But I wasn't about to go back and correct it, because hey, who really cares, right? Besides, I think GaGa is much better. If she'd exploded onto the glam scene in the early seventies you can be sure it would have been GaGa. My apologies to the regal Lady and her loyal posse of fans.)

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